The Trousers of Time
by Clotho
Summary: An AU story exploring the area of 'what if'. Now Complete.
1. Prologue

** The Trousers of Time**  
  
**Disclaimer**: The characters in this story, and some of the events, belong to the C. S. Forester estate and A&E Productions.   
  
**Description**: A sort of verbal doodle exploring the area of might-have-beens. Part One is a pre-series AU, Part Two yet another take on a familiar scenario. This piece turned out a bit darker than I'd intended, but that's what happens when you write stories with Jack Simpson in them. Therefore:  
  
**Warning**: This story contains references to child abuse and rape of minors.  
  
_To history, choices are merely directions. The Trousers of Time opened up...._  
  
Terry Pratchett, _Jingo_  
  
** Prologue**  
  
One chilly spring night, a boy stood, hesitant, in the grounds of a plain building with that indefinable quality that hangs around places devoted to the study of education. To put through his plan he would need to scale the wall that ran around the grounds by means of clinging ivy and descend into the road outside. It was that, and not the thought of the world beyond the wall, that caused his hesitation now, for the wall looked very high. Perhaps he should go back after all. Perhaps he should obey his father's wishes. The school life, though unhappy, was surely not unendurable, and though he could see little purpose in his studies it was always possible that he was wrong. Perhaps....  
  
For long years afterwards he would remember that moment, and how long he hesitated, how nearly the decision reached might have been different. For a long time he would wonder over how different his life might have been.  
  
At long last, he started forward, and for a brief moment had the most strange sensation of being two people. One beginning, with dogged determination, to scale the wall, the other trailing back towards his hard bed in the dormitory. Two boys, launched upon irrevocably different futures....


	2. 1 The Meeting

** Part One  
**  
**Chapter One - The Meeting**  
  
The dark-haired lieutenant was at a loose end. Quite simply he had no ship, could not get a ship and possessed no immediate prospect of getting a ship. He could have given up, returned home with his half-pay, but something, pride, stubbornness, hope, something kept him trying, touring the ports in search of a place. And it was on the Folkestone streets he met the boy.  
  
It was the cry he heard, cut off abruptly. In the darkening light he stood for a moment, uncertain if it had just been his imagination, then he wheeled, and plunged into the mouth of the dark alleyway behind. They were not far inside, the man with a knife held to the boy's throat. The lieutenant had his sword out in a second, a single glance was enough to send the man fleeing.  
  
Feeling rather pleased with himself, the lieutenant sheathed his sword and turned to the boy. "Are you hurt?"  
  
"No." The boy was trying very hard to seem brave, and the lieutenant remembered enough of his own boyhood to let him do so.   
  
"Did he manage to rob you?"  
  
"No. He was just searching my pockets -" the bravery wavered a little, but the boy mastered himself quite fast. "T-Thank you, sir. He would have, if you hadn't come along."  
  
"I'm glad that I did come along. These villains are all cowards at heart, you know. May I see you to your home?"  
  
"I haven't one," the boy said, "that is - I'm here to join a ship."  
  
"Are you indeed?" The lieutenant wondered what sort of people would dispatch a boy as young as this to a port town, alone. "Are they expecting you tonight?"  
  
"No, that is, not tonight particularly." For some reason the boy flushed. "I'm looking for the _Justinian_, sir, Captain Keene's ship. Do you know where to find her?"  
  
"No, but I can help you do so. But not, I suggest, tonight. You probably would fail to get a boat at this hour. If you come back with me, then I will see that you get a meal and a roof over your head."  
  
"To your ship?"  
  
"To my inn room," the lieutenant corrected. "I am looking for a ship at the present time."  
  
"Oh." The boy seemed to hesitate, then said, "Thank you, sir."  
  
Far too trusting a young man, the lieutenant reflected. But very young. Aloud he said, "That will be settled then. Now you had best tell me your name."  
  
"Horatio Hornblower, sir."   
  
Sounded like a book title, the lieutenant reflected. "And I am Lieutenant Edward Pellew. Pleased to meet you, Mr Hornblower."  
  
#  
  
Not exactly a communicative boy, Edward reflected, watching young Horatio demolish his breakfast next morning. Getting information from him bore a strong resemblance to pulling teeth. He had established, however, that Captain Keene had some sort of connection through marriage with this young man, and had promised him a midshipman's berth in consequence. His father, it transpired, was a badly-off country physician, his mother dead. Not an unusual story, but some quality about the boy's reluctance to talk aroused his curiosity. That, and the obvious fact that he was no more fit to be out alone than an new-born babe, made Edward resolve to accompany the boy to the _Justinian_.  
  
Besides, one never knew. Making Captain Keene's acquaintance might prove useful.  
  
At first encounter that seemed unlikely. Edward was not overly impressed by Captain Keene, who struck him as a man who should have been at home with his feet on a stool rather than commanding a ship of war. When it swiftly became obvious that Keene was not expecting a new midshipman, Edward's first reaction was to assume the captain had forgotten. It seemed all too likely.  
  
"Hornblower, sir," the boy insisted, "Dr. Hornblower's son. You said that you would take me."  
  
"Oh yes," Keene harrumphed, "I do recall. But, good heavens, boy, I thought your father meant for you to finish schooling first. Do you mean t'say he changed his mind and never wrote me?"  
  
Edward gave a sharp look at young Horatio, whose expression was quite patently torn. Wisely he opted for the truth.   
  
"No, sir. But I thought... if I'm to join the Navy in the end, what's the point of more schooling? There's an old sailor man in our village, and he said I needed to start at twelve if I was to get on in the service. And my father won't mind. I'm away all the time anyway."  
  
"Humpf," Keene said - or something of the kind. "I've never thought it makes much odds what age a man joins at. But d'y'mean t'say your father didn't send you here?"  
  
"No, sir," Horatio replied. "I, well, I chose to come myself."  
  
"In other words, you ran away. Well, can't have that, can't have that at all. Can't have a midshipman on board without his father's consent, boy."  
  
"I'm willing to work hard," the boy insisted. "You won't be sorry, sir."  
  
Edward looked at Keene, who was harrumphing beneath his breath, and decided that nothing would be lost by a bit of intervention. He had taken quite a liking to the boy. Running off to join the service was bold indeed!  
  
"Might I suggest you write to the doctor, sir. Tell him what has occurred. It might not be wise to dispatch young Mr Hornblower home upon the stage in any event."  
  
"Hmmm," Keene said. "You've certainly got a point there. Who knows where the young varmint would get to. Well, boy, you can stay here while I write your father and tell him what you've done."  
  
"Thank you, sir." Horatio said seriously. "You won't be sorry, sir."  
  
"Well, well, I'd better call a man and see you stowed somewhere. How old are you, boy?"  
  
"I'll be twelve in four months, sir."  
  
"Twelve in four months? Well, for now you can make yourself useful. Another ship's boy doesn't come amiss. You'll likely have had enough of the life before your father writes back." That seemed to end the matter as far as Keene was concerned.  
  
With Horatio dispatched under the care of a petty officer, Keene turned to Edward.  
  
"And how much did you know about this, eh?"  
  
"Nothing at all, sir," Edward said, taking care not to appear flustered. "I met the boy exactly as I told you. He said to me that he was here to join _Justinian_, and I had not the faintest idea that he had not been sent by his parents."  
  
"Can't blame you there," Keene said, "Who'd have thought of a thing like that. Now, what ship did you say you were with?"  
  
"No ship at present, sir."  
  
"No ship, eh? Care to join this one? We're a lieutenant down since Rotherwood came into that estate of his and who knows how long before the Admiralty get round to sending a man."  
  
Edward was almost stunned. Could it really be that easy?  
  
"I would be honoured, sir."  
  
"Glad to hear it." Keene said. "Hope you can join at once."  
  
It _was_ that easy.  
  
#  
  
It turned out that the duties of a ship's boy assigned the young Horatio incorporated performance of the less menial tasks associated with waiting on the lieutenant's mess. It would not be true to say that the boy enjoyed that occupation, but he was a stubborn youngster, and told himself firmly that this was merely an apprenticeship for the life that he must lead, and as such infinitely more useful than the Greek and Latin texts with which he had been expected to cram himself at school. Another blessing was that he was largely spared the company of boys his own age. Horatio, precocious, not especially gregarious, and accustomed to the society of adults, had found being surrounded by other boys far from pleasant; the more so because the boys had not hesitated to visit on him all the torments which children are accustomed to aim at those who do not fit in. In many respects waiting upon lieutenants was much more to his taste, especially given the presence upon board of Edward Pellew.   
  
Edward had never regarded himself as a man who greatly cared for children, but the young Horatio had decidedly caught his interest. He had lost no time in extracting from the boy a full account of his exploit, and the fact that Horatio was clearly embarrassed by his questions engaged Edward's liking all the more. Horatio had been fortunate, obtaining a lift in a carrier's cart most of the way to Folkestone, however Edward did not doubt that he would have got there somehow or other by any means. He was certainly a boy of considerable determination. He was also intelligent and eager to learn. With Justinian laid up in harbour the lieutenants' duties were relatively light, and Edward fell into the habit of talking with the boy during his free time. Horatio, he discovered, was set on learning all about the life of a naval ship, driven, it seemed, by a dogged conviction that here was his future that had Edward simultaneously amused and admiring.  
  
"Surely it must be very different in an open sea, sir?" Horatio ventured one morning, as Edward was advising him on some of the broader points of life at sea.   
  
"It can be," Edward told him, "depending greatly on the weather. And warfare, of course, will change things all the more."  
  
"Then how can we be prepared for such things?" Horatio asked, frowning.  
  
"In one sense, Mr Hornblower, one can never be prepared. I'll wager you'll not forget your first taste of them. But that is all the more reason for learning your duties to the letter. When you can perform the normal business of a ship without thought, without doubt, that is when you are ready for the extraordinary."  
  
"I see, sir." Horatio did look as if he was concentrating on the words.  
  
"No good thinking too much on such things beforehand though," Edward warned. "An officer who broods too much can be a danger."  
  
"How so, sir?" Now that was a hard one, he had spoken as he would to a much older and more experienced individual. Horatio's intelligence and gravity made it easy to forget how young he was.  
  
"You will learn one day, Mr Hornblower," he said eventually, adding a mental promise to make sure of it if he could.  
  
It seemed only right and reasonable to encourage the boy. Not that that was altogether easy, for Horatio was decidedly shy about asking questions, or even answering them for that matter. He had to press the boy to accept such help as he could give, and he liked young Horatio the better for it. Yet he was a boy still, for all his precocious gravity and independence, he was a boy, and when in the intervals of instructing him on naval life Edward would tell tales of long ago battles, or recount some of his own more exciting past experiences, Horatio's eyes would shine.  
  
In short, Edward was getting very fond of the youngster whom chance had thrown across his path, and he was secretly pleased when, in the third week of Horatio's time aboard a letter arrived from the doctor father saying that if his son really wished to begin naval life at once he might as well do so. Horatio showed no open signs of elation - what an odd, closed in youngster he was in some ways - but Edward thought he could detect a little more confidence as he went about his duties. 


	3. 2 The Warning

**Chapter Two – The Warning  
**  
"Hello. Who are you?"  
  
Horatio turned quickly. It had been a boy's voice, and it was a boy behind him, a boy a little smaller than Horatio himself, but wearing the midshipman's uniform that said he had passed his twelfth birthday. He had blond hair and seemed friendly, but Horatio's schooldays had not made him inclined to trust friendliness in other boys.  
  
"My name is Hornblower," he said, attempting to imitate the formality he had seen in the ship's officers, "I'm a ship's boy at the moment."  
  
"Well, I could tell that," the other boy said cheerfully. "Don't you have a first name?"  
  
"Horatio," he admitted reluctantly.  
  
"Horatio Hornblower, there a tongue twister!" the other boy laughed, and Horatio's eyes dropped sullenly, but instead of rubbing it in, as Horatio expected he continued without a pause, "I'm Archie Kennedy. Have you been here long?"  
  
"Three weeks," Horatio said. Curiosity compelled him to add, "I haven't seen you before."  
  
"That's because I've been in the sick-berth with measles," the other boy informed him. "Have you had measles? I didn't like it much, I can tell you." Horatio being tongue tied, he swept on without seeming to be worried by the lack of response. "I've been a midshipman for nearly a year now. How long before you get to be one? You are going to be a midshipman aren't you?"  
  
"I hope so," Horatio stumbled, "About three months now, until I turn twelve."  
  
"Well, that's good. It's much better being a midshipman than being a ship's boy. And I'm a long way the youngest at the moment, so I'll be pretty glad when you join. I'll be able to show you the ropes. Do you know any good games? It can be dull, with all the waiting in harbour."  
  
"Surely there's a lot to learn?" Hornblower said hesitantly.  
  
"Oh, yes, but it's not so easy getting anyone to show you. I wish we could get to sea again, that's really glorious, you'll like it. I'd like to be in a storm best, that would be exciting, don't you think?"  
  
Feeling a bit overwhelmed by this outpouring, Horatio muttered something about having work to do and almost fled the scene.  
  
#  
  
But he was not to get away so easily, for it seemed that Archie Kennedy was not about to let go of the company of a boy his own age. Whenever Horatio had some free time, he was likely to show up, eager to play, or explore the ship, or just to talk. And Horatio was not the kind of boy to meet such approaches with open rudeness. Nor was Archie one to be put off by a little thing like marked lack of enthusiasm. As the time passed Horatio found himself starting to look forward to their meetings. Archie brought with him a sense of fun that the young Horatio had never experienced before. Although he was barely aware of it, he was discovering for the first time, what it was like to share easy companionship with a boy his own age. What it was to have a friend.  
  
Edward, observing the new friendship, was less than enthusiastic. It seemed to him that the young Kennedy was more than likely to lead Horatio astray and destroy the seriousness of purpose that set him apart from other boys. Kennedy struck him as a boy that was likely to be trouble: heedless, light-headed and probably insensitive. Horatio was more vulnerable than he appeared on the surface, this friendship could cause him hurt. His fears seemed to be confirmed when both boys were reprimanded for rowdiness above decks and given punishment duties by the First Lieutenant. The not-too- serious results of their good fun seemed to leave Kennedy quite untouched, but Horatio was visibly subdued. Nonetheless Edward felt it better not to try and interfere. For one thing, the boy would probably react sharply against any such attempt. For another, it was not his business.  
  
To his pleasure, within a very short time the friendship seemed to be tailing off. The young Kennedy was less often seen above-decks, and when he did appear, no longer sought Horatio's company. Insofar as he thought about it at all, Edward assumed he had found his place amongst the older midshipmen, and could no longer be bothered with the company of a mere ship's boy. It did occur to him that Horatio might be pained, and he went out of his way to be especially nice to him for the next couple of weeks.  
  
In fact Horatio was indeed hurt, although he did not acknowledge the fact to himself. His one or two tentative attempts to seek Archie out met with rebuffs, not harsh or rude, but nonetheless hurtful to his sensitive nature. He was far too diffident to attempt to press the issue, and simply withdrew back to the isolation he had previously lived in. If Archie did not wish for his company any longer, then that was simply a fact to be accepted, not in any way wondered over or speculated upon. Having never been accustomed to be thought much of by other boys, he was not even surprised. But beneath his even manner there was a stab of pain.  
  
One day, however, Archie did seek him out. If Horatio had been a more perceptive observer of others he might have noticed that his friend looked pale and there were shadows beneath his eyes. He did not notice it, though, and intended to give a cold response to whatever Archie might have to say. Yet the first words, blurted out, took him enough aback that he forgot the intention.  
  
"Do you still mean to become a midshipman?"  
  
"Of course I do!" Horatio said indignantly.  
  
"Well, don't," Archie told him.  
  
"What do you mean, don't?" Horatio objected angrily. "I want to be a midshipman. Anyway, I'm going to be one as soon as I turn twelve."  
  
"But you don't have to be, do you?" Archie insisted, "Tell the captain that you don't want to be, that you've changed your mind."  
  
"But I do want to be!" Horatio insisted, getting angry now.  
  
"No," Archie insisted, shaking his head, "No, you don't. Please, Horatio, you don't want to be a midshipman."  
  
"Why are you trying to stop me?" Horatio demanded. "Don't you want me to be a midshipman with you?"  
  
"I'm trying to help you," Archie insisted, almost feverishly. "Stay as you are, or go home, or anything, just don't come into our berth."  
  
"I'm going to be a midshipman! And I want to be an officer. And you can't stop me!"  
  
"Then tell the captain you want to go to another ship. Any ship. Just not this one, Horatio, don't be a midshipman here."  
  
"You don't want me in your berth, do you?" Horatio's voice was furious with hurt. "Well, you can't stop me. The captain took me on this ship, it's nothing to do with you."  
  
"No," Archie told him wretchedly, "No. I'm just telling you –" But Horatio had already swung away.  
  
#  
  
Horatio was awash with pride on the first day he donned his midshipman's uniform. After his time on board he knew at least the rudiments of his new duties pretty well, and the confidence this gave helped override some of his natural diffidence. Lt Pellew's congratulations were all that was needed to put the seal on his satisfaction.  
  
He was not, however, quite so enthusiastic about moving to the midshipman's berth. Against his will, the shadow of the estrangement from the first real friend he had ever known took a little of the edge from his pleasure.  
  
A shy boy, he approached the berth on his first evening with considerable nervousness. In fact he was hoping to simply slip inside without attracting attention, but no such good fortune awaited.  
  
"Well," the man at the head of the table drawled, "another little lamb. What's your name then?"  
  
Stammering under the cold gaze, Horatio gave his name.  
  
"Now who saddled you with a burden like that, I wonder?" The man was smiling as he spoke, but it was not a reassuring look. "Never mind. Old Jack will have it out of you – when he chooses." 


	4. 3 Assault

**Chapter Three - Assault**  
  
Horatio's hands gripped hard on the rail.  
  
In all his young life he had not known pain like this. Mixed with the shock, there was still a little disbelief that this could happen to him. His life had always been lonely, but safe. In his mind, he could not reconcile the ordered world of the Navy that he had known so far with the terror and brutality of the midshipman's berth.  
  
Most of the others had avoided him after last night's brutal beating, only one, a man called Clayton, had at last come over and helped him rise and wash his face. The fearful looks that the others cast towards Midshipman Jack Simpson had been almost as eloquent a warning as the beating.  
  
The ship's bell sounded the end of his watch, the watch that he had feared he would never get through without collapsing. The wind was biting, but he was afraid to go below. Instead he tried to find a spot on deck, somewhere where he could shelter a little. Slipping beneath one of the ship's boats where it hung suspended he found the refuge already occupied.  
  
Blue eyes met dark, and dropped again at once. Archie pulled back, further from Horatio, but he did not run.  
  
"This was what you meant," Horatio whispered. "You tried to warn me."  
  
Archie would not meet his look. "Go home," he whispered, "you can still go home."  
  
"No." Call it pride, call it stupidity, but he had insisted on joining _Justinian_ and he felt that he could not endure to run back home like a whipped hound. He would stay if it killed him. "You haven't gone."  
  
"Can't." Archie did not say more, and Horatio did not ask more. He did ask something else, however. "That fit you had...."  
  
Archie shrank even further away, his face starkly miserable. Horatio persevered, "Shouldn't you have seen the doctor?"  
  
"Hepplewhite?" Just in that single word, Archie's voice conveyed that that had been a stupid question. Horatio could think of nothing more to say, and so stayed silent.  
  
"You should leave," Archie burst out again. "He hasn't ... that beating ... you don't _know_ yet. He'll do worse if you stay, much worse. You should go."  
  
Horatio shook his head violently. "No."  
  
They stayed there, huddled some distance apart, until after darkness fell.  
  
#  
  
Horatio stared at Simpson, torn between terror and exaltation as he got to his feet. He didn't care what Simpson claimed, he was sure it could not be right for a senior midshipman to make a menial out of his juniors.  
  
When first ordered to clean the man's shoes, still on his feet, he had, reluctantly, buckled under. But when one heel had ground down hard upon his hand, then something in him had snapped and he had spat deliberately upon the surface.  
  
Simpson rose slowly, with his customary angular swagger. One of the most terrifying things about the man, Horatio thought, oddly clear-headed in his fear, was that there was no way of ever telling what he would do next. It would never be good, of course, but there were so many ways in which it could be bad....  
  
A hand shot out without warning, and twisted one of his arms sharply behind him, so that he gasped in pain. "That," the hated voice hissed, "That was not a clever thing to do," the grip jerked sharply, "I think," and suddenly Simpson was laughing, his own particular kind of laughter, "I think that merits a lesson! Now–" another jerk, "you will come with me."  
  
Horatio tried to struggle, but his twelve year old strength was useless. He was shoved roughly towards the door, but before they could reach it he suddenly felt himself loosed, in the same moment that Simpson let out a sound almost like a howl.  
  
Horatio twisted round, in time to see the look of blank terror on Archie's face as he dropped the bloodied knife he had been holding, and backed. Simpson was clutching his thigh, where blood was welling, but the wound did not seem to be handicapping him seriously. With another animal like sound, he threw himself straight at Archie, who made no attempt to resist. Horatio, knowing any intervention by himself would be useless, fled frantically onto the deck, and bolted straight for the officer of the watch, so fast that he almost collided with him.  
  
"He'll kill him! You must come! He'll kill him!" Although Horatio was almost incoherent Lieutenant Danvers did get the notion that there was something very wrong in the midshipman's berth and hurried there at once.  
  
It was as well for Archie that Clayton had been stung into intervention and, though no match for Simpson in strength, had at least provided something of a distraction. Danvers's sharp "What is the meaning of this!" cut through even Simpson's fury and the mess fell silent in seconds.  
  
Danvers was not an unfair man, but neither did he possess any great qualities of perception. Finding no-one, not even Horatio (who was by now so shaken he could hardly speak at all), prepared to explain what had happened he simply apportioned blame amongst all three of the midshipmen involved in the fighting and went straight to recommend beatings to Captain Keene.  
  
Not even Simpson was about to risk starting further violence under those circumstances, but no-one in the berth doubted that his revenge would be extracted.  
  
#  
  
"You've got to stop it, sir!"  
  
Edward shook his head. "I have no authority."  
  
"But it's not right! Archie was trying to help me! And Clayton was trying to help him."  
  
Edward looked at the boy in some concern. He'd noticed Horatio had been quieter than usual, but had blamed the effort of his new duties. Was there something truly wrong here?  
  
Horatio didn't seem to want to tell the tale, but he eventually made a clear sounding job of it. He had, in fact, understated the violence, but Edward could not know that.  
  
"I will speak of this to the captain," he said, "but it will require more than your word alone. You understand?"  
  
"Oh, yes, sir." Horatio seemed blithely confident, "But the whole mess saw. If they're given a chance to speak, I'm sure they will."  
  
Edward felt an almost frightening rush of protective anger. When had he begun to care so much about this boy? It was hideous to think of Horatio being attacked by a brute more than twice his years. He would dearly have liked to take the flat of his sword to Simpson.  
  
He wished he could feel as confident that the man would get his comeuppance as Horatio did.  
  
#  
  
"There is nothing I can do", Edward said gently.  
  
"But..." he realised that Horatio was fighting back tears of anger.  
  
"None of them supported your claims," he said, "Not even Mr Clayton or Mr Kennedy."  
  
"Do you think me a liar!" Horatio demanded furiously.  
  
"No. I do not think it. But the decision of the captain must be final." He teetered on the edge of saying he was sorry, but he had already said more than he should. "A beating ordered by the captain, well, young men survive. It is the life of the Navy, Mr Hornblower, and you must learn that."  
  
Horatio simply turned away, his refusal to accept the words patent. Edward could hardly blame the boy, he barely accepted them himself. However it was not the beatings that concerned him so much as the thought of what the man Simpson might do afterwards if even a part of Horatio's story was true. Something was very wrong in the midshipmen's berth, but he was too junior here to put it right without having more to go on than just Horatio's word.  
  
Yet how could he possibly leave the boy to further brutality? There must be something he could do.  
  
#  
  
"Mr Kennedy." The boy flinched at the words, and as he turned obediently Edward was struck by how ill he looked, surely worse than a single beating could account for, even a severe beating delivered to one still a child. He had been stoical about it, Edward recalled, or perhaps simply paralysed; it had been Simpson, the grown man who had struggled and cried out and made an exhibition of himself. He could hardly believe this washed out looking boy before him was the same one whose high spirits he had disapproved of so short a time before. It must be Simpson, a newcomer to the ship, who had caused this change.  
  
"Why did you attack Mr Simpson," he asked straight out. The boy simply shrank away, his face a wretched mask. Edward was about to demand as an order that the question be answered, but checked himself. There was something very wrong here, and though he could demand an answer with threats he could not ensure it would be truthful.  
  
"Mr Hornblower," he said quietly, "claims that Mr Simpson was attacking him and that you came to his defence. Is this false?" Nothing moved in the boy's face. Edward, as he had planned, took that for acceptance. "Why did you not say so?" No response still. "Did you want Mr Hornblower to be branded a liar?" These words were harsh and, as he had hoped, did get a reaction. The boy gasped, and after a pause, shook his head very slightly. "Because you were afraid, then? Afraid of Mr Simpson?" No answer. "Mr Kennedy," Edward said severely, "I consider it most regrettable that you should withhold help from one I believed you to consider a friend because of fear," he had hoped to spark a sharp response, but the boy just shrank a little. "It is too late to raise the matter with the captain again, but we can take steps for the future. If you wish to be worthy of your position on this ship, then if Mr. Simpson should again attack Mr Hornblower you will come straight to me. You understand. To me?" He spoke the last words with great emphasis, but without too much hope. This youngster seemed a weak reed to rely on.  
  
Kennedy's eyes lifted to his face for the first time, but dropped again quickly. Edward thought he caught a nod but was not sure. It was probably the best he could expect.  
  
He would speak with Clayton as well. There seemed more hope for success there. Truth was, he was desperately worried. The thought of brave, vulnerable, young Horatio trapped in a mess which had reduced a lively imp like Kennedy to a silent wraith was sickening. Dammit, he'd got far too fond of that boy! And yet, how could he not? Horatio was something exceptional, in the short time he had known the boy he'd seen that much, and he prayed that he could keep him from being marred before he was grown. 


	5. 4 Reprisal

**Chapter Four - Reprisal  
  
**Archie knew what was coming.  
  
He had known when Simpson fell on him in the berth with calculated brutality, beating him just short of unconsciousness. He did not suppose it was the full punishment, merely the first instalment. Simpson wanted him helplessly subdued, in pain but awake for the next part of his revenge.  
  
Simpson wanted to be sure there was no repetition.  
  
Clayton was dead drunk tonight. He supposed Simpson had had something to do with that, most probably driving him to it. No chance of help there.  
  
The only hope was the officer's promise. Trust had already been half- killed in him, but he clung to that promise because it was all there was. And when Simpson finally left him, choking on pain, on the floor of the mess, he made himself be ready.  
  
Simpson, he knew, was waiting for Horatio. Waiting for him to come off watch, so he could complete what he had attempted before. With added interest, no doubt.  
  
Simpson could move with great speed when he wanted. There was no toying with his victim this time, just raw violence. Horatio's head was slammed twice against the wall before he could even react. "You didn't think I'd forgotten, surely?" Simpson hissed as he twisted the boy's arms behind him.  
  
Archie was ignored. As Simpson shoved Horatio outside he dragged himself up, and, summoning the bloodied shreds of his courage, drove himself towards the officers' mess.  
  
He stumbled in without knocking, heedless of punishment. Although Simpson had left his face unmarked he was ashen and shaking. Someone was indignantly demanding why he had barged his way in, but Lt Pellew took one look and answered the insistent grab at his sleeve by a boy beyond any coherent explanation.  
  
He knew where Simpson would have taken Horatio. Oh yes, he knew.  
  
They were in time. Simpson had battered the strength out of Horatio, got his hands tied and a gag pushed into his mouth, but he had not had time to do any more. As Edward forcibly dragged him away Simpson turned and lashed out, catching the lieutenant on the jaw. Edward, drawing on his old battle experience, kicked Simpson in the stomach, hard enough to wind him, then stooped to free Horatio. Archie's hands were shaking far too much. Horatio was gasping and shuddering, but making a valiant effort to fight off hysteria.  
  
"You're safe." Edward gripped the boy's arms to steady him. "You're safe. It's over. He won't hurt you again." He looked over to where Simpson crouched, coughing, his eyes murderous. "He'll hang for this."  
  
#  
  
Edward knew that, little though he wanted to, he had to talk to the boy. And having a honest soul, Lt Pellew admitted to himself that some of his reluctance was undoubtedly due to guilt. He was an officer aboard this ship and he had been blind to what was going on. He had failed to protect the young men he should have guarded.  
  
The boy must have guessed why he had been summoned for he looked ready to pass out from terror. Edward was as gentle as he could be.  
  
"Mr Kennedy, it is plain that Mr Simpson has been abusing his position and inflicting violence on other members of the mess. But after last night, I am compelled to ask – it went further did it not?" The boy simply stared back at him, as if frozen. This was a terribly difficult thing to put into words. "There were violations of the Articles?" Edward persisted softly. "Of one Article in particular? Violations that should have been punished by death?" He would not have thought it possible for the boy to grow paler, yet he did. "No blame attaches to you." He was not sure those words were heard. "But I must know. Before last night – had he inflicted more than beatings upon Mr Hornblower?" A silence, then at last the boy mutely shook his head. "Was he about to – the time when you attacked him before?" This time a faint, reluctant, nod. Yes, that had been it, and he had been far too slow to see it. Until last night he had guessed at nothing worse than brutality, though that would have been bad enough.  
  
Edward was not a man to shirk from uncomfortable admissions. "Mr Kennedy, I owe you an apology. On two counts. First that I did not observe what was happening earlier, and take steps to put a stop to it. Second, that I have misjudged you. What you did took great courage." He'd been all wrong about this boy. Well, perhaps not _all_ wrong, but he had certainly had no idea that the apparently light-headed youngster could be capable of acting to protect another in the middle of such suffering of his own. A remarkable youth, after all.  
  
Kennedy merely shook his head at the well-meant words, although whether in denial Edward could not tell. Then he whispered, "What will you do?"  
  
"There is no need to do anything, unless you so desire it. Mr Simpson signed his own death warrant when he struck me in the hold. But I wanted you to know, if ever any trouble of that kind should arise again, then you can turn to me for help. I would not wish you to suffer such a thing in silence ever again."  
  
"You won't report me?"  
  
"No," Edward said gently. "In any event, what is there to report on your side of things? You were innocent here. Did he tell you otherwise?"  
  
A long struggle, then the boy choked out, "He said, if anyone learned, then I would hang. I didn't know.... I thought for sure the captain would not want me aboard his ship...."  
  
Edward frowned, he could not reassure young Kennedy that no captain would ever consider the victim of such a crime to be tainted, for he knew it to be possible though hideously unfair. "The captain need not know if you do not wish it. No-one need know. It is over now."  
  
"Horatio.... He must have guessed."  
  
"And I am sure he knows that you protected him." The boy's face was working now, for all his efforts at control. Hesitant, not sure if this was right, Edward crouched down, and put an arm around his shoulders. "No man worthy of respect would think the less of you." The boy held stiff for a moment, then suddenly seemed to give way in the embrace, shuddering convulsively he clung to the officer's coat, wordless in his pain.  
  
For the second time since he had boarded this ship Edward felt a violent surge of protectiveness. A brave, loyal boy like this one shattered by such motiveless malice. He swore in that second that if there was anything he could do to heal the damage he would do it, not just for the sake of Horatio, who Kennedy – Archie – had protected, but for Archie's own sake, for it would be a thousand pities if he were to be ruined by this.  
  
Archie was still shuddering in his hold. If Simpson were not already doomed Edward felt he would have killed the man himself, with bare hands if he had to. In that moment he would have killed without hesitation any man who laid a hand on either of the boys – _his_ boys. Yes, he thought with fierceness: _his boys_. "It's alright," he soothed, knowing that it was not and might never be, "It's all over now, it's over, he will never hurt you again." He wished that Archie would let out his pain in weeping, but he seemed to have gone far beyond tears, "It's alright. I'll help you. I won't let it happen again."  
  
#  
  
The entire crew was on deck for the hanging. Captain Keene had insisted on it, although Edward had argued hard that the boys should be excused. Punishment should be witnessed, Keene had said, and that had been the end of it.  
  
The man deserved this, and worse than this, but it was an ugly business all the same. Ugly to drag a man near unconscious with terror to the noose, ugly for all the formality of ceremony. But it was meant to be ugly of course, it was meant as warning as well as punishment. If Simpson had truly been condemned for a blow given in an unguarded moment then there would be no redemption here, but the man's crimes were far worse and probably far more numerous than even Edward knew. Looking at those faces he could see, he thought that many of the crewmen knew it. There was not a soul living who would mourn for Jack Simpson. Some might even celebrate his passing, and if that was an uglier matter than the hanging it was an ugliness that Simpson himself had made.  
  
Horatio, he saw, brought his eyes down to stare at the deck at the moment of execution, but Archie – when Edward saw Archie's face he thought perhaps Keene had been right after all. Archie's gaze never wavered, and the look he bore was not of triumph or even relief, it was something deeper and more vital. Perhaps purgation.  
  
When it was all over and the crew had been dismissed he saw the two of them walk over to the rail side by side, not touching, as far as he could see not speaking, just standing and looking out to see.  
  
He had not expected this to happen. He had not anticipated anything like this when he stepped aboard _Justinian_, but once again he felt the surge of strangely violent affection for them both. They were both his boys now, and he would protect them to the last drop of his blood, for as long as life should last. 


	6. Interim

** Interim  
**  
Archie vaulted lightly over the barrier, making Horatio wish briefly he could be that athletic. His eyes were bright with eagerness, but he spun the announcement out.  
  
"We few, we happy few, we are to be posted to – the _Indefatigabl_e!"  
  
Horatio felt his mouth drop open in shock. "You don't mean it!"  
  
"Of course I mean it. Think on it! Captain Pellew's ship!"  
  
Horatio bolted.  
  
"What _is_ the matter with you?" Archie demanded, catching up with him on deck. "It would be a great chance for anyone, half the midshipmen in the fleet dream of serving under Captain Pellew. And he knows us, that makes it even better. We couldn't have hoped for a finer posting!"  
  
"It's because he knows us." Horatio looked half panicked. In the four years since Edward Pellew had left Justinian for better things he and Archie had seen nothing of the man he firmly believed to have saved both their sanity, but they had heard a good deal of his exploits. The very recent appointment to command one of the finest frigates in the fleet had cemented Captain Pellew's reputation as one of the Navy's rising stars – and Horatio was terrified. "Archie, he was so good to me, right from the first. What if I let him down?"  
  
"Why should you let him down?"  
  
"I'm not... I won't live up to what he'll expect in an officer!"  
  
Archie shook his head. "Sometimes, Horatio, I think you must have bats in your belfry. You know sailing inside out, you can navigate at least as well as Master Bowles, the men respect you – no, don't argue! You won't let him down!"  
  
"I'll be sea-sick."  
  
"They say Nelson gets sea-sick. Horatio, he _liked_ you. More than that, he thought well of you. That won't have changed, why should it? You haven't."  
  
Horatio sighed, unable to accept Archie's confidence. "I'm glad we're both going, anyway. At least it won't be just me."  
  
Archie shrugged. "It was always you first. I think he mostly saw me as your friend."  
  
"I think you're wrong. Everyone gets along with you, he wasn't any different."  
  
"Oh, yes, I can get along with people, for as much as that's worth. There are more important things, you know." Only very occasionally these days did a shadow of old trouble pass over Archie's face, this time Horatio could not even be certain he had seen it before Archie was saying brightly, "If it wasn't against regulations I'd lay a bet you'll be a lieutenant within a year."  
  
"You do talk nonsense sometimes," Horatio said. Archie just laughed.  
  
#  
  
Horatio couldn't believe that he had done what he had. He could not believe he had kept his calm aboard the French ship, done what needed to be done, all with a hole blasted straight through him. And now he and Pellew were stood in the captain's cabin on the Indefatigable, staring at one another with the blankness of shared pain. Although he had known the risks in some cool academic way, as lifeless as maths tables; in his heart he had never really understood that war could lead to this.  
  
He had not even learned of it until the fight for the _Papillon_ was ended. Archie had been on the other side of the great mainmast, it was not until later, far too late, that he had heard of it. The fluke French shot that had caught Archie as he worked and sent him plunging to the sea. Some of the men had seen, but he had not asked if there was anything they could have done, nor even whether any of them could swim.  
  
"It was a brave end," Captain Pellew said hoarsely, and to his shock he wanted to scream that death was death: brave or not it was such a waste of Archie, such a waste.  
  
"Isn't there any hope?" he stumbled.  
  
Edward closed his eyes. "Precious little."  
  
#  
  
He was beyond thought, beyond knowledge. The pain in his shoulder and the wet of the sandbank beneath him were things known but not understood. He thought nothing when the rough hands dragged him away.  
  
#  
  
Horatio knew he was being a coward, but day after day he fled from the cell, out into the light outside. He couldn't bear to stay, for he simply could not bear to see Archie reduced to this, all light and laughter and hope extinguished. Even in the worst days on _Justinian_ he had not been so bad as this.  
  
Archie was glad to see him go. His own memories were bad enough, the litany of suffering and failure and despair that Horatio could never understand. He had resisted Horatio's efforts to get him to talk of the prisons. Despite years of war Horatio was still simple and untouched, knowing little of dark places and the cruelties that lurked in them. Well for him that it was so.  
  
Worse even than the nightmare memories was the knowledge that he was a hopeless burden. Was it not enough that he had proven his failure and weakness, over and over? Why inflict that on his old shipmates? He would not do so. He was not going to drag others down with him. He had made his choice.  
  
Yet for all his repeated flights, Horatio was deeply worried. At last the worry came to a head, and he could no longer take refuge in retreat.  
  
"Aren't you going to have some ... soup," he picked the most appropriate word for what was actually a mass of nameless goo, although no worse than average naval food. Although he still wanted to escape anxiety was stronger now than pain.  
  
"Later." Later. Time and again he'd seen Archie mumble a little then put it aside. And it was always gone when he came back to the cell, but suddenly suspicion flared. He #knew# Archie, for all their time apart, and he knew that Archie was concealing something now. "You _are_ eating aren't you?" The sunken eyes slid away. Horatio rounded on Hunter. "Is he eating?" Hunter only shrugged.  
  
Panic erupted. "What the _hell_ do you think you are doing?" He grabbed Archie by the shoulders too distracted to notice the involuntary flinch. "What are you _doing_? Don't you want to get better."  
  
This time Archie's eyes met his. "It's better this way."  
  
"Better for who? Archie, you're talking nonsense." He heard the unsteadiness of his own voice but didn't care.  
  
"You and the men can go. You don't want me holding you back."  
  
"No!" For the first time since they had first walked in here he had completely forgotten Hunter's presence. "No, I can't do that. You have no right to make me do that. I will not go back without you. I will not bring the news of your loss to the captain. Not again."  
  
"What does it matter, now?"  
  
"It matters to me! And to him. You are coming back with us. I won't leave you again, Archie, I will not!" He reined in his panic, and, still holding Archie's shoulders, put as much force as he could into his voice. "Now, l_isten_. You are going to get better. You are going to eat and get well, and we _will_ wait. Archie, I'm not living with your death on my soul. I will not do it."  
  
For a few moments he thought Archie's stubbornness was unshaken, but at last his eyes slid away from Horatio's and he took the soup.  
  
#  
  
"Think of it, Horatio. Captain Sawyer! If we had to leave the _Indy_ where better to go?"  
  
"A captain with his record – it's a big responsibility."  
  
"Horatio, don't you ever look on the bright side? It's a compliment! And an opportunity."  
  
"It is a good posting, Archie."  
  
"And we are going to celebrate. No arguments, Horatio. I'm going to see you enjoy yourself, for once!" 


	7. 1 Charges

** Part Two**  
  
**Chapter One - Charges**  
  
He would have walked out, and left the young man with the formality of rank, the gulf between prisoner and judge, still intact between them. As he turned, however, Horatio said hoarsely, "Sir, I must ask. Can you give permission for me to visit the infirmary?"  
  
Commodore Pellew, stopped, brought up short against the thing that he had deliberately left unspoken, lest speaking it should crack his carefully maintained control. It cost him a hard struggle to be able to say, with only a slight crack, "Yes, I can do that." And having done that much he found he had to turn again, and look back at Horatio Hornblower, not this time as an officer facing trial, but as a young man that he loved. Yes, loved.  
  
"Mr Kennedy," he said hoarsely, "has a sound constitution. We must pray that that will be enough." The words were not enough, he could not leave things so. He went back to the young man, the boy he had met in Folkestone who now stood well above him, and reached out to rest a hand on his arm, even now the greatest gesture of affection he dared make. "God save us all, Horatio."  
  
#  
  
Horatio had shamed the Commodore, for he had held back from making the infirmary visit himself, and whatever reason he might give he knew that the root of it was fear. He did not want to face what he might find. Now though, he cursed his cowardice, and forced himself to make the visit.  
  
It was not so bad as he had feared. He had cowered away from the thought of seeing a strong young man broken by pain and fever. Archie looked very bad, lying limp and pallid in the low bed, but he was in command of himself, and the eyes he turned to the newcomer were aware. Pellew saw the wariness in them, the same guarded, almost fearful, look that Horatio had given in place of the open welcome he had been used to seeing, and he cursed. Dear heaven, what had Sawyer done to his boys?  
  
"How are you faring, Mr Kennedy," he asked.  
  
"Well enough, sir." Pellew would have expected no other answer. His tongue felt tied, as he looked down at the blood stained bandages, and tried not to picture the ruin beneath. Why did this have to happen to Archie, who had had so much ill-luck in his young life? He hated always to see suffering he could not heal, to have to endure the outcome of matters over which he had no control.  
  
The drawn face was oddly urgent. There seemed some message there that Pellew could not read. Frustrated by his own helplessness he turned to the doctor.  
  
"How long since the bullet was extracted?"  
  
"It has not been extracted, sir."  
  
"Not extracted?" Pellew growled. "Call yourself a surgeon? You have been on land long enough, and you tell me the bullet _has not been extracted?  
_  
The doctor drew himself up. "The patient, sir, will not permit me to operate."  
  
Pellew swung back to the boy in the bed, and barely stopped himself from shouting. "Why will you not let the bullet be extracted, Mr Kennedy? Surely you know how important it is?"  
  
"There is a risk."  
  
"There is a greater risk in leaving the wound to fester."  
  
"But it will give me at least until after the trial." Once again that strange urgent look. "You do not have to tell me, sir, that matters may be ... difficult." His voice was low now, for Pellew's ears only. "I may be needed. _This_ may be needed." There was something he was not seeing, Pellew knew. A mere whisper now. "I will not let two lives be lost where one would serve."  
  
The meaning sank in, and Pellew almost reeled with shock. Oh, but they were putting him to shame these boys, with their stark courage, facing the horrors he did not wish to confront. _No!_ he wanted to cry out, _It will not come to that! I will not let it come to that!_ Yet there were hard matters to be dealt with here and he could not say it.  
  
He closed his eyes. "Justice will be done. I will see justice done." God above us, let me keep this promise....  
  
Before leaving he turned to Clive and snapped, "I will send for another doctor. This case needs a second opinion." He would send the best that Kingston had to offer, although realism told him that still might not be very good.  
  
"Is that really necessary," the doctor sniffed, "under the circumstances?"  
  
"Under the circumstances it is all the more important to keep these men as well as possible," Pellew snarled. For the first time he glanced towards the second bed, and saw the other injured man – it must be Lt Bush – watching him cautiously. "I will see to it."  
  
His boys. _His boys_, who he had cared for and watched over and helped to grow. Who he had had to send out into battle, again and again, fearing and suffering and once mourning for far too long. Not his own flesh and blood, but might as well be. He could not guard against sword or bullet or fever, but _he would not let then die this way_. Not disgraced and condemned, victims of a mad captain and neglectful Admiralty. He _would not_. No matter what the cost. No matter who he damned he _would not accept this_. He'd see the whole Admiralty in Hell first. 


	8. 2 Trial

**Chapter Two - Trial  
**  
"_No_." It was not a cry, it was a single word said with the force of a sword thrust. "_No_." Pellew repeated. "I do not accept that."  
  
"I believed that we were in agreement," Hammond said in a chilly voice. "Captain Sawyer's good name should be protected. For the good of the service."  
  
"Certainly that is highly desirable," Pellew said with coldness matching Hammond's. "The good of the service is my concern as much as yours. But it is not to the good of the service to persecute capable officers. The Navy needs such men."  
  
"We are speaking of mutiny, Commodore. The Navy requires punishment for such a crime."  
  
"It has not yet been demonstrated that any mutiny took place. And it may not be." He had Hornblower's tale to go upon, the knowledge that Captain Sawyer had most certainly been completely unfit for command at the fort. Yet to make that public must be a last resort, and there was always the uncomfortable matter of the captain's fall and the meeting that had preceded it. That was a topic which must be avoided if at all possible. Damn Hammond, why couldn't he let things rest! Convictions were in no- one's interest, not even Sawyer's. To be remembered forever as the captain who had ended his days a victim of mutiny would do his reputation no good service. "I have no intention of condoning mutiny," he said carefully, "but I will _not_ subscribe to the punishment of innocent men."  
  
"And I, Commodore," Hammond replied, "must oppose any attempt to let favouritism influence the outcome of events."  
  
"Are you accusing me?" Pellew growled.  
  
"You cannot deny that two of the accused officers were formerly under your command." That was tricky, favouritism might be as common as weevils in the Navy but no-one was supposed to admit to it.  
  
"I do not deny it," Pellew said. "Nor do I deny that my long knowledge of both men convinces me that neither would raise opposition to a captain who was fit for his command. It is justice that I want from this matter, Captain, and justice is what I intend to see is given."  
  
"That," said Hammond, "is the purpose of a court-martial, is it not?"  
  
"I will not preside over a witch-hunt!"  
  
"And I will not accept a cover-up."  
  
Deadlock.  
  
#  
  
Pellew knew that he needed to think this matter through, _before_ he walked into the court room. He needed to be prepared for all eventualities.  
  
How important was the preserving of Sawyer's reputation? The man was dead. He did have family who could be hurt by seeing him remembered as a madman. There were individuals in the Admiralty who would be embarrassed by revelations of the truth. The Navy itself had survived worse scandals, and recently at that. Sawyer had been a public hero, but the Navy had many heroes and he commanded only a ship not a fleet. The country had endured a mad Prime Minister not so many years ago, it could certainly survive a captain grown too old! Peace would likely be declared in a month or two, the politicians were hammering out the final details now. Exposing the truth could make him enemies at high levels, perhaps finish his career. Not exposing it might finish lives.  
  
That was the crucial point. He did not want scandal if it could be avoided, but he had made his choice. _He would not see them die_.  
  
#  
  
"Dr Clive," Pellew said grimly, "I would ask you to define what you mean by 'duress'."  
  
"Surely that is self-evident," Clive said, in tones that attempted indignation.  
  
"Under the circumstances, doctor, I believe further explanation is essential. You acknowledge that you _did_ declare the captain unfit?"  
  
"I have said that it was under duress."  
  
"Nonetheless it was done. Now, what was this duress? Was anybody threatening you? Were you manhandled?"  
  
"I did not say that," Clive hedged.  
  
"Come, come, man, there were others present. We can get an account of what happened easily enough, for your own sake I suggest a plain and truthful account, _now_. Do I take it you were _not_ being threatened or assaulted?"  
  
"Not as such."  
  
"Then what did happen?"  
  
"I was asked, repeatedly, if the captain was fit!"  
  
"Thank you, doctor." No point in antagonising the man too much. "We have then, established that no force was used."  
  
"Who was it put this pressure on you?" Hammond interposed, smoothly. Pellew glared.  
  
"Lt Hornblower," Clive replied with evident relief. Pellew had no intention of ending matters there, however.  
  
"Now, what was the captain's state at the time?"  
  
"His ... state?"  
  
"Dr Clive," Pellew said patiently, "It is recorded in your log that the captain had suffered a head injury in an accidental fall." In fact the word 'accidental' appeared nowhere in the records, but such mischances were common enough. "Now, I understand that you had a great regard for the late Captain Sawyer, but the business of this court-martial is to find the truth, from however many witnesses it takes. Moreover, I think your captain would wish you to speak the truth. If an accident had reduced his ability to command, it must be known. If he were previously deficient in his performance, or if he had lost the ability to command his men, then _that_ must be known too."  
  
He waited to see if Clive had fully understood what he was saying here. That he was determined to expose the truth, and the best protection for Sawyer's reputation – and that of the doctor who had let his condition slide for so long – was to accept a verdict of temporary incapacity.  
  
The doctor struggled. Finally he admitted, "Captain Sawyer was not himself."  
  
"Do you consider that his fall had rendered him temporarily unfit?"  
  
"I do," Clive said grudgingly.  
  
Pellew kept himself from looking relieved. He would have gone further, called every man who'd been on that deck as witness if he had to, but the less washing of dirty linen took place the better, for everyone. "And the claim that the diagnosis was rendered under duress."  
  
Clive looked as though his mouth was full of vinegar, but he said, "On further consideration I believe I overstated."  
  
"Lt Hornblower did not force you in any manner?"  
  
"No." 


	9. 3 Resolution

**Chapter Three - Resolution**  
  
"You are making a mockery of this court, Commodore."  
  
"I am merely trying to establish the truth."  
  
"Truth!" Hammond snarled. "This is naked favouritism, Commodore. I will not accept it."  
  
"The doctor's testimony seems to me conclusive," Pellew said. "Captain Sawyer was unfit, and we may as well halt this court-martial now. In my opinion the charges should never have been brought."  
  
"Unfit, perhaps," Hammond's eyes narrowed. "But why? We have not yet established how the fall came to happen."  
  
"Does it matter?" Yet he knew how dangerous this ground was. "No long voyage passes without some accidental falls."  
  
"But seldom of a captain whose men were plotting against him."  
  
"There has been no evidence of that!"  
  
"Not yet," Hammond said unpleasantly, "But we have many witnesses to come."  
  
"Captain Hammond," Pellew said, "I believed it to be your desire to protect Captain Sawyer's reputation. Do you really wish to expose the fact that the man has been going slowly mad for months? I am sure you know the truth of that as well as I."  
  
"It is the course of events we should be concerned with, not the reason for them."  
  
"_I_ am concerned with the reasons! I told you, Captain, I will not accept a scapegoat hunt. It is not my wish to expose Sawyer's true state in court, but if I have to do that to prevent injustice then I will."  
  
"Injustice! You care only for your precious protégé, Hornblower!"  
  
"You," Pellew said, "are exhibiting what looks remarkably like personal vindictiveness arising from that business at Gibralter. I can see no other reason why you should be so concerned to bring down one of the Navy's ablest young men."  
  
"He is a menace," Hammond snapped, "an opponent of discipline. Men like that can only undermine the service."  
  
"A remarkable opinion to have arrived at on the basis of an acquaintance of one evening." Pellew stood up. "What you wish to do, Captain, would be a travesty of justice and I will _not_ yield to it. If you make a battle of this, then I will fight you in court for every step. If you win, then I will denounce you in every forum in the land.  
  
"The Navy will survive. England will survive. Our own careers may not, but that will not restrain me, captain. I would rather mount the gallows myself then give you free hand to abuse the service so.  
  
"I will pay whatever price I must. Are you prepared to do the same?"  
  
#  
  
"I do not know how he came to fall," Buckland said grudgingly.  
  
Pellew had had to handle the man with gloves of kid, it was evident that resentment of Hornblower was strong in Buckland. However his desire for self-preservation was stronger still, he would take the chance of survival above the chance for malice if not provoked. Hammond, however, was still a problem, not challenging Pellew's authority openly, but harping upon the question of the fall.  
  
"I was not there," Buckland was saying, "But I believe Gunner Hobbs may have some information."  
  
"He was present?" Collins asked.  
  
"I think not. But he heard the last words of Midshipman Wellard, who I believe to have known something about the matter."  
  
#  
  
Hobbs was surly. "I cannot say what happened, sir."  
  
"Was Mr Wellard present when the captain fell?"  
  
"He was present, aye, but he said nothing of use to me before he died."  
  
Now where did Pellew go from here? "How did Mr Wellard die, Mr Hobbs?"  
  
"He was with the captain, when the D- Spaniards attacked, sir."  
  
"He was shot fighting alongside the captain?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Hobbs said slowly.  
  
Here was the dangerous moment. "Mr Hobbs, from what I have heard of you, your loyalty to the late Captain Sawyer is beyond question. Would you agree that Mr Wellard died the death of a loyal man protecting his captain?"  
  
"He did." Hobbs said. Pellew breathed out, having, he hoped, placed it on record that if there had been anything suspicious about the captain's fall neither Wellard nor Hobbs would keep it back. It might not be true of Wellard, but the transcripts would contain no hint of that.  
  
"Is there anything more that you wish to add to your testimony."  
  
"I have nothing to add, sir."  
  
#  
  
"It was an accident," Hornblower said firmly. "It was dark in the hold. I think the captain did not see the hatch edge. He simply overbalanced and fell."  
  
Thankfully the question of why the captain had been in the hold was one matter that Hammond either knew nothing of or chose not to try Pellew's anger further by raising. And indeed there could have been any number of normal reasons.  
  
"The captain fell by mischance?"  
  
"Yes, sir, he did."  
  
#  
  
"No doubt you are pleased with yourself," Hammond said coldly.  
  
"I am pleased with nothing in this wretched business," Pellew answered, "The most I would say is that something has been salvaged."  
  
"Meaning your beloved boy's career, of course." Pellew was not about to say to this man that if Hornblower's career had been all that mattered to him he could have sat back and let Kennedy commit the sacrifice he had intended. But even if Archie's life had not been dear to him he would have fought to keep Horatio from such a wound.  
  
"Do you believe the matter will end here?" Hammond was saying. "Do you believe that questions will not follow him, follow _you_? This affair will never be forgotten."  
  
"And you," Pellew grated, "no doubt take pride in having helped to assure it would be so." The harsh truth was that Hammond was quite likely right, but that was a prospect he could bear. Better for Horatio to have his career shadowed than to swing. "I have said I was pleased with nothing in this business. But one thing I am deeply thankful for, Captain, that my conscience is clear. Not for the wealth of the Indies would I choose yours!"  
  
No, not for any price that the world could offer would he have chosen to do other than he had. His boys were safe, for he would not let himself believe that Archie would die now. They were safe, and Hammond's malice was a trivial price.  
  
A grim though occurred, if they had been other lives at stake, young lieutenants whom he did not know, would he have let his course be swayed? Would he have brought himself to accept Hammond's arguments for the sake of not staining his own future? He knew it had not been Commodore Pellew who conducted the hearing, it had been Edward Pellew who loved those young men as his sons and would do far more than challenge a Charlie Hammond for their sakes. In that at least Hammond's accusations had held a grain of truth Yet now the matter was concluded, Commodore Pellew did not believe that Edward had done ill. He had served Justice here, both sides of him believed, and in doing so he had done the Navy far truer service than Black Charlie and his talk of scapegoats had intended.  
  
Briefly he closed his eyes, and made a vow that he would not forget this time. If he should ever – God prevent – find himself dealing with any such mess again, than he would do his true duty and all that lay in his power to protect some other father's sons. 


	10. Epilogue

** Epilogue**  
  
It should not have been possible for the common human head to feel like that. It certainly should not have been the case that so much pain could have been concentrated into so small a space.  
  
Something appeared to be trying to hack at the edges of his agony with a rusty saw. Gradually Bush realised that somebody was ... whistling?  
  
A voice responded, and his mind painfully deciphered the words. "Clayton. _Shut. Up_**.**  
  
_What on earth did I drink last night?_ the part of Bush's mind currently capable of thinking mumbled. _And how much of it?_  
  
"Some people," another voice answered in what Bush thought were unnecessarily loud tones, "simply cannot hold their drink."  
  
Memory reconstructed itself, despite part of Bush's consciousness just begging to die quietly. At the same time he realised that he had collapsed with his head and arms draped over a table but had to acknowledge he did not feel strong enough to do anything about it at the present.  
  
Oh, yes, the celebration for Hornblower's new command. They had been joined by an old friend of Hornblower and Kennedy, a lieutenant with a job in the dockyards, who seemed to know all the best places to drink. It was emerging that he also had an exceptionally hard head.  
  
"If you can't _take_ it," the tone held a careful assumption of reasonableness, "you shouldn't _try_ it."  
  
"Clayton," Bush had now established it was Kennedy's voice under the slurring, "if you don't _shut up_ then once I see straight I am going to come after you with my sword."  
  
Hornblower, Bush had to assume, was still unconscious, unless he was the one who had groaned a moment before. Bush thought that might have been himself. He couldn't remember when he had last had such a hangover. He really was too old for this.  
  
"Oh, very well," Clayton's voice said. "I'm off for some breakfast. Bacon anyone?"  
  
There was a thump, which suggested Kennedy had found something to throw, then the sound of a door opening and closing, without any attempt at silence. Bush, who had been considering the benefits of murder, abandoned the attempt to winch his eyes open and hoped to pass out again soon.  
  
Vaguely, just before he slipped under, he remembered part of a drunken conversation with Hornblower last night. Speculation on how the course of a single decision could change one's life. It had all seemed very complicated, but perhaps that had merely been the drink.  
  
Of course, Bush thought muzzily, decisions changed things. If he had followed the voice of sense last night he'd be feeling a lot better now. But why worry about it? You couldn't change things. Hornblower had seemed to think the matter important, but all Bush considered to matter was that at the moment he was well satisfied with life as it was. Or would be, if only he could exchange his head for one which hadn't drunk quite so much.  
  
Maybe Hornblower was onto something after all.  
  
**The End**  
  
**Endnote**: There are really two 'what if's here. I know I'm not the first person to have wanted to explore just how the trial would have turned out if Pellew had _not_ undergone a mysterious personality transplant between series, but I wanted to write my thoughts out and at the same time put the idea into some kind of wider story and finally the idea for Part One came to me. Part Two is how I think things _should_ have happened in Kingston.  
  
**Additional Note**: 'The country had endured a mad Prime Minister not so many years ago ...' The Earl of Chatham (Pitt the Elder) was mentally unbalanced, perhaps manic depressive, for most of his last two years in office. Astonishingly this was not an isolated case. When, some years after this story, Lord Castlereagh developed mania no-one troubled to remove him from his post as Foreign Secretary. Strange, but true. 


End file.
